


The Devil & The Magician

by NoncanonGirlfriend



Category: Archer (Cartoon)
Genre: Drinking & Talking, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 00:06:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10842306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoncanonGirlfriend/pseuds/NoncanonGirlfriend
Summary: Cyril and Ray sit down at the same bar by chance, and the night unfolds before them.(Set in S8: Dreamland.)





	The Devil & The Magician

There's something to be said for bars.

Cyril has often wondered if they truly are God's greatest work, a place to sit and get drunk and forget the day and not have to speak to another living soul except the bartender. Actually, tonight, he's barely touched his drink, a whiskey overflowing with melted ice. The bar hums quietly with activity, the buzz of humanity ebbs and flows behind him interrupted by the occasional shrieking laugh of a woman high on who-knows-what or the cough of a washed-out elder. 

After the bizarrely comical goose chase that Archer lead him on this past week, Cyril figures he deserves a moment away from humanity, in one of the most human of spots. His mind drags from thought to thought, occasionally lingering like a train at a station before pulling away again, stopping somewhere else, never long enough to find anything substantial.

That wall of static separating him and the rest of the room is broken by a drawling accent that spits out at him, "This seat taken?"

Cyril waves his hand noncommittally. He doesn't look up from the sickly swirl inside his glass, barely registers the creaking of old plastic and the regular dry sniffles of the person sitting next to him. 

For about another minute he listens to the sounds of someone obviously trying not to cry before lifting his head, staring straight at the menu board, and asking, "Are you going to get anything, or what?"

The voice- oddly familiar- 'hmphs', before answering with "Mind your own goddamn business."

Cyril shrugs, as if to convey 'fair enough', and raises his drink to take a sip, barely wetting his lips, mainly to make some sort of action to relieve the awkwardness. 

"Bartender! Y'all have hard lemonade?" Shrill, obscuring the tears that now must be falling, what Cyril assumes is a male voice places an order with the apathetic bartender.

"If you're going to cry-" Cyril starts, annoyed, finally tilting his head to address his companion- and stops short, because, he recognizes him.

It's late at night and the man's eyes are red from tears and possibly weed, but Cyril would place his life savings on that he's currently sitting next to Ray from Dreamland.

Come to think of it, that's all he knows him as: Ray from Dreamland. He doesn't know his surname, what he does aside from play that stupid horn, anything about him, how he's connected to Archer- just that he works at Dreamland and is obviously not having the greatest night right now.

Ray glares at him, discreetly blotting a tear with a white glove he grips in his right hand. "If I'm going to cry what? What are you going to do about it?"

"Don't you work at Dreamland?" Cyril ignores Ray, checking for sure, didn't he just throw this guy in jail not even three days ago?- He'd have no problem with doing it again, except that the sight before him is more than slightly pathetic, he's off duty, and as far as he knows Ray doesn't get involved with the going-ons of his corrupt employer.

Ray grabs his lemonade just as the tender sets it down and chokes back a quarter of it in one go. Cyril watches, still waiting for an answer.

"I wish I didn't," Ray finally shares.

The energy is now positively uncomfortably intimate, they're close to being the last patrons of the bar at this hour, at this secluded place in the hills, and Cyril doesn't know if he should laugh, cry, scream, or all three.

He settles for taking off his jacket. Ray watches with mild interest, before slamming away the rest of his drink.

"It's just-" a hiccup from Ray, and Cyril rolls his eyes, "I'm not appreciated there, you know?"

"Oh, because I'm sure you're some big undiscovered talent," Cyril snaps, sick of the mess Ray is, sick, he tells himself, of Ray's whining voice that is permanently marked by his long years spent in the South. 

"I never said that, you asshole! They're always orderin' me around, tellin' me what to do, when I'M the band leader! And they ain't ever include me in their little get togethers, the only person in that shithole who actually gives a fuck about me is Lana!" Ray bursts out, more tears suddenly breaking free and rolling down his face. This time, he does nothing to stop them, instead opting for keeping his gaze pointedly away from Cyril.

Cyril stares at him. "That blows."

"Yeah. More than me on the weekends," Ray cackles unsteadily, signaling for a refill.

Despite himself, Cyril snorts, and Ray smiles.

"So what's your deal?" Ray dips his head inquisitively, warming up to Cyril with the assistance of his drink, desperately trying to keep himself distracted. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone at work- not like they'd believe me, y'know."

It takes a few seconds before Cyril sighs, deciding to give in and humor the poor fellow for a while. "I'm working on a case," he shares, nothing more, nothing less.

"Well, duh." Ray's tone is rising once again, creeping back up to a hysterical whine. 

"Are you going to cry again?" 

The fresh tears streaming down Ray's face for the second time answer his question.

"Oh, Jesus," Cyril mutters, digging in his pocket for some kind of cloth. He produces an unused handkerchief that Ray roughly wipes across his cheeks before gripping it between his fingers, holding his hands in his lap to nervously play with it.

Ray takes a deep breath, and with a glance towards the man behind the counter, says "I like this bartender better than ours."

"Are you alright?" Cyril prods.

"No." Ray sniffles, "I hate- fuck. I'm sorry. I don't know you."

For the first time in a long time, Cyril feels something akin to compassion. Maybe it's more feeling sorry, but Ray obviously hates that he's crying in front of Cyril, why make him feel even worse?

With anyone else, Cyril would have beat their ass by now. He doesn't want to think about why Ray's different.

"It's fine," Cyril almost whispers.

Ray grins shakily, "I'm gonna get another, do you want anything?"

"Nah. I'm driving." Truth be told, Cyril's also on the verge of falling asleep, but he doesn't feel right leaving Ray like this.

"Suit yourself."

"Do you do this a lot? Just go to random bars?" Cyril's question is accompanied by Ray taking a swig from his third drink.

He swallows and responds, "Not really. Only when they really piss me off. So I guess a lot."

"Can't be good for you," Cyril lightly notes.

"Breakin' the laws you're supposed to uphold can't be good for you either, Mr. Policeman," Ray grumbles, and Cyril curses, he almost forgot Ray works at Dreamland, once the only thing he knew about him- and when he thinks about it, still the only thing he knows about him, aside from that he's a shit drunk.

"Smoking joints on your break can't be- oh, wait, I forgot you got you all busted because you threw a fit when they wouldn't share." Cyril's hostility breaks through, the spike of anger wakes him up with a jolt, before he can stop it and he immediately regrets it when genuine hurt floods Ray's face.

"Shut UP! You're just a dumb- you don't know anything!" In a second Ray goes red, sloshing his drink onto himself when he gestures aggressively towards Cyril, who cringes slightly at the tell-tale drops forming at the corners of Ray's eyes.

"Ray-"

"WHAT!" 

"I didn't mean that," Cyril coughs.

Ray calms, setting his lemonade back down on the wood. 

"S'okay."

"Alright."

A few minutes slip by in the silence that follows, same as before, when Cyril was alone, except now his heart and brain are both racing and Ray is humming badly, to the tune of the soft jazz that crackles out of the radio. Cyril picks up on how hot the room actually is, sweat beads down his forehead and yet Ray appears to be fine in his white suit. Somewhere in the back, an air conditioner struggles to keep itself going. 

Cyril doesn't want to think about the oddness of it all- the weird chance that he'd run into Ray here, that they'd talk, that this would happen. He mentally slaps himself for not just getting up and leaving in the first place.

The bartender audibly groans when he notices the two of them are still there and leans over to take Ray's glass from him, accompanied by a harsh "Bar's closing. You gotta go."

Cyril nods, lays down a tip, and collects his jacket. Normally he would just walk right out, leaving the smoky lights and suspiciously stained floors behind him without a second thought but now- there's Ray. Ray, who is still staring down at the bar. Ray, who is a complete and utter mess but, also, Ray, who is not Cyril's responsibility- he feels like he is. 

What a coincidence, that they both came here for their own reasons at the same time on the same night, and yet it doesn't feel like a coincidence at all.

Something disturbs Cyril, pushing him into motion- that he pities Ray. 

(He calls it pity, but he knows it's not. It's something he doesn't want to put a name to, doesn't know how.)

"Hey."

Ray snaps his head up and looks back at Cyril, tears drying on his face. "Yeah?"

"Do you need a ride?"

\---

"This isn't my natural hair color," Ray slurs, like he's just told some big secret.

"Really?" Cyril glances sideways at Ray, who slumps in the passenger seat beside him. He bites back what he wants to say- it looks nice.

"Sure thing. Hey, I like this car."

"Thanks."

Ray hums again, interrupted once by a heave when Cyril hits a particularly nasty bump. He fiddles with the buttons on his shirt absentmindedly. 

"Thanks for, y'know, takin' me back," Ray looks up at Cyril, who remains completely focused on anything that's not Ray.

"Your boss would kill me if I let you just wander off when you're like that," Cyril begins, and Ray interrupts him with a howl of laughter.

"Are you serious? She'd thank you!"

Cyril swallows and keeps his eyes on the road as Ray cackles beside him.

"No, really though, that's so nice of you," Ray says, to which Cyril makes some sort of agreeable noise.

Cyril turns on the radio.

He's grateful when they finally come to a stop outside Dreamland, which is either just closing or opening- neither of them have any idea what time it is anymore. The car is clunky when it shuts off, which Ray doesn't seem to notice.

"Cyril?" 

"Yes?" 

With only the dark moon and broken streetlights as their witness, Ray sloppily half-leans, half-falls over and grips Cyril by the shoulders. He stops long enough for Cyril to tense and relax beneath his hands before kissing Cyril directly on the mouth- more like, he slams his lips against Cyril's.

Cyril kisses back. For half a second. But he does, and both of them know it. When Ray pulls away, Cyril's heart is jack-hammering, and he knows he's visibly shaking. Suddenly he's much more aware of the closeness of the car, the proximity of Ray, how Ray lingers with his hands on Cyril's shoulders longer than he should before sitting up.

Ray observes him one last time and then reaches for the door handle. "Thanks."

Cyril nods.

"I'll see you around?" Ray asks, halfway on the pavement already.

"Yeah," Cyril whispers, "around."

As Ray stumbles across the street to his work, Cyril picks up on one last little detail that didn't hit him until now: Ray is taller than he is.

Cyril feels heat overtaking every part of him and with twitching hands quickly starts the car again, screeching away as fast as he can before he can think about Ray's kiss and how much he liked it.

**Author's Note:**

> not pictured: cyril driving recklessly fast to get home and then dreaming about ray singing why don't you do right to him EXACTLY like in who framed roger rabbit before waking up in a cold sweat
> 
> also i love how different their personalities are in dreamland because i think of it as a reflection of how archer sees them but honestly that's close to their true selves... how cruel cyril can be and how needy ray is... love my boys


End file.
